I Don't Want A Lot For Christmas
by woodbyne
Summary: SwedenxFinland with added Sealand. Good, clean Christmas-themed fluff for Pigyz-kun. Christmas time is hard work for Tino; he doesn't get to spend any time with his family, so Berwald organises a surprise. Human names, fluff. In the extreme. T to be safe.


**This is a gift for Pigyz-kun, the 200****th**** reviewer of Mein Schutzengel Il Mio Prottetore, my – sadly, completed – fic. She wanted some sweet, fluffy SwedenxFinland. So here you are, I hope it's up to scratch! I threw in a little Sealand, too. Just to make it a family.**

**Also, this is the second fic I have written on my pink porn-top. Which is what I call it in my head, because if I called it that in front of my mother I might just die of shame. Note: This is not porn. That's just what I call my laptop.**

**Enjoy**!

~====o)0(o====~

The tall blonde nation sat in the darkened room, the soft ochre of firelight playing across his face and catching on his spectacles, making them flash.

The smaller nation in his arms twisted slightly, half asleep. Berwald dipped his forehead to rest on Tino's; checking his temperature. Boxing Day was always like this; Finland would come home exhausted and a little feverish.

Even though nations are immortal; although it is not necessarily immortality they posses; they still die, fade or fall ill. Today, Tino was ill. It seemed silly to the Swede that this small and oftentimes overlooked nation should have to run around the globe stuffing presents down chimneys for ungrateful brats who didn't even know he existed, let alone believe in the legendary figure he represented. Every year it was the same; the little fin would come home absolutely knackered, his temperature high, sweating and sometimes even coughing.

It was all the stress that weakened his immune system; his body was human after all, even if it did have a higher tolerance for pretty much everything.

It was rapidly jumping from one time zone to the next that wore him down; imagine the jetlag of crossing the equator more than twelve times in one night, forget the Greenwich meridian.

It was running from the deserts of North Africa to the Swiss Alps, from the Himalayas to the Gobi, that constant fluctuation from one natural extreme to another that gave him a fever.

It simultaneously weighed heavily and lightened Berwald's heart to see the smaller man so; shivering and cuddling into his chest. It wasn't fair that the rest of the world expected Tino to work so hard on the day when so much of the world did nothing. He deserved a Christmas, too. It was _his_ holiday, after all.

But no, Finland worked so hard on this day, only to come home like this. So weak.

Finland was the only nation who listened to him really. Not just listened, but heard. Even America can listen to someone if he has a mind to, but he didn't hear them. At all. But Tino listened to the words behind the mumbles and the slurs to what he was really saying, and it felt good to have someone like that.

So every year, when the smaller nation insisted on working himself into the ground for the sake of people who didn't care too much about him or his country except to make derogatory songs about them, he gathered Finland into his arms and held him until the fever dissipated, until the coughing subsided and he lay still and warm in Sweden's arms, just like that first time he had hugged him.

As Tino's health steadily improved through the night, Berwald felt himself slipping into slumber like the flames of their dying fire slipping into the embers.

~====o)0(o====~

Tino woke on December 28th feeling rested and at peace. He also felt as though he's been sleeping on a tractor, which was close enough to the truth to be funny.

Ah, Sweden.

No one who met the country would suspect that he could be such a teddy-bear. In fact, when Finland had tried to explain his inner squishiness to other nations, they had laughed nervously and gone to find someone large to stand behind, muttering about Stockholm syndrome and how unhealthy it was.

At first, that's what the Fin had thought, too. But then he thought about it. Berwald had run after him, and kept him warm. Admittedly, he had also declared Tino to be his wife soon afterwards, but maybe hugging meant something different in Sweden at the time.

He didn't mind being his 'wife'. It meant he got to live out that little domestic fantasy that sometimes popped into his head. Everyone has it from time to time, whether it be a passing fancy or a life-time goal. The white picket fence, the (insert average statistic for children in desired country of your choice here) kids, the family dog. He had all that. It wasn't exactly normal, but then again, neither was running about for what amounted to forty-eight hours pretending to be father Christmas wasn't exactly what most people thought of as normal either. And neither was being an anthropomorphic personification of a landmass, but that was just a job. Being Santa was more of a hobby. A stressful, time-consuming hobby that only happened once a year, but a hobby none the less. And he knew of husbands who were less tolerant of their wives hobbies, though at least his wasn't shopping.

Still, he knew Sweden didn't approve. Christmas was a time for family, after all, and his favourite pastime didn't leave him any time for his small, unconventional family. Sweden was so good with children, despite his size and gruff outward manner. Those miniature people always seemed to know that there was a ginormous marshmallow hiding behind those spectacles and greatcoat. And that was what Finland loved about Berwald. He knew exactly where that marshmallow was hiding and what to do to make it come out. Staying out to all hours delivering presents was chief among the things that brought out the marshmallow, but there were other things, too.

Little things, like asking, "How was your day, honey?" Being all wifely-like. That always made for a cuddle.

Stretching happily and feeling his spine pop, Tino wandered into the kitchen and stopped dead. All around the room there were fairy-lights; their strings snarled around the pots and pans that hung from the over-head rack and wound their way around a huge fir tree in the corner. Under the tree were brightly wrapped presents, one with a huge bow had his name scrawled across the top on an old-fashioned parcel tag. It was in Sweden's bold handwriting; big, block letters that never left any doubts as to his meaning. So unlike his words which could be missed or muddled if one wasn't listening carefully. Tino had never had that problem though. Berwald was just one of those people whose every word seemed to ring with quiet authority, and it was difficult not to want to hear what he had to say. A lot of nations didn't feel the same, though. Which was a real shame, because to Finland's mind, the Scandinavian country's thoughts were worth more than a few Kronor.

Tino felt someone behind him. Someone taller than himself with broad hands and shoulders. A shoulder to lean against and hands to cradle his waist.

"Do you like it?" the Swede asked quietly; knowing that through any shy mumble or slur, Finland would hear him.

"I love it," Tino breathed, taking in the picturesque table setting, the green and the red. Candy-canes, candles, all the little things that made Christmas an internationally celebrated marketing ploy were there. But there were other things there too. Thoughtfulness; how carefully each thing was laid out, that this had even been done at all. There was family, Berwald to his back, Tino finally home, and Peter, that rambunctious tween country sitting at the table, cutlery in hand, looking like he was biting back a complaint. The word slipped from the Fin's lips; "Why?"

Despite that single word barely counting as a sentence in its own right, Berwald understood in just the same way that Tino understood him, "You're never here for Christmas with us. So we brought Christmas to you."

Turning around in the taller nation's arms, he stood up on his tiptoes and pulled the Swede down for a soft kiss. It was brief, and none too passionate; Sealand was still in the room after all, and saying things like,

"Mum, dad! Don't be gross; the food'll get cold!"

Tino smiled warmly, "Thank you, I love it. I love you."

"I love you, too," Berwald said, kissing him soundly, much to Peter's disgust.

~====o)0(o====~

**I hope you liked my first-ever attempt at SuFin! I really hope I did this right, because I've barely encountered these two before, let alone written them! Did I do okay?**

"**SuFin? That sounds like a Chinese take-away. 'I want a number ten with chicken,' kind of thing." – My sister, when I told her that I'd just written a SuFin.**

~**RutheLa**


End file.
